Daniel

The car pulled into a roadside diner. Daniel Glass made an excuse to go to the restroom, giving Song Ya and Hayden a chance to talk alone. He was a standard white elite: dressed in a sharp suit, skin bronzed from frequent beach trips, well-built, composed, and highly perceptive. Back in the car, Song Ya had been humming and hawing to brush him off, barely engaging in the conversation.

"What are you doing?"

As they sat in a booth, Hayden pointed toward the restroom and said, "Last year, SBK was acquired by EMI. Do you know the exact amount? Three hundred million dollars! This is a big shot. You have no idea what kind of opportunity is right in front of you! Stop acting like a brat!"

"FXXXYOU!" Song Ya rarely cursed, but this time he was genuinely losing his temper. "Did you hear something outside the door last time?! Did you? Otherwise, you wouldn't have thought to bring someone from a major record label to find me!"

"Yeah, that's right. I heard almost everything outside the door."

Hayden admitted it readily. "Pablo is right. We must bring in a major company to handle distribution; otherwise, Joe will mess things up. He doesn't understand the modern record industry at all."

"I don't care if he understands it or not! Wait, I think I need to make things clear with you."

Song Ya confronted Hayden with a serious expression. "You are my agent, and I am your employer. You cannot make decisions on your own regarding certain matters. At the very least, you should have consulted me over the phone before bringing someone to see me! If Joe finds out you brought a major label to see me, what will he think of me? He'll think I'm a traitor! Is this about money? This is about survival! Haven't you seen those gang members at Joe Music?"

Hayden was stunned; he clearly hadn't thought about it from that perspective. "I'm sorry, I apologize to you..."

He pressed his palms together. "I still underestimated the... danger of the South Side. But you have to understand, it's hard for me to refuse Mr. Glass. I have more than just you as a client. If I had called you first and you refused to meet, I wouldn't have been able to answer to Mr. Glass..."

"Forget it."

Song Ya was actually exaggerating the severity to scare him, otherwise, this agent might cause him even more trouble in the future. "Your task now is to hurry up and get my song copyrights and BMI membership sorted. Everything else..."

He saw Daniel Glass coming out of the restroom and lowered his voice. "Everything else can wait."

"What's the matter? Can I help?"

Daniel Glass sat down across from Song Ya. "I came with sincerity, APLUS. Let's not talk about that album. I can take the initiative to sign a singer contract with you first—two years, three years, it's up to you. Whether you release a record or not is up to you. You just need to sign, and we'll pay you a salary. Of course, it's not a huge amount, about thirty to forty thousand dollars a year."

"Wow, this is so..." Hayden looked at Song Ya.

Song Ya shot him a glare.

"Uh, it's like this, Mr. Glass..."

"Just call me Daniel."

"Right, Daniel. My employer doesn't want to consider any business matters right now. Before he..." Hayden looked at Song Ya. "Can I say it?"

Song Ya nodded.

"Before he gets his BMI membership sorted." Hayden explained to Song Ya, "The copyright will be through soon; I've already handled that."

"BMI?" Daniel was a bit surprised. He beckoned the waiter over, signaling for them to order something to eat. "Their efficiency has always been like that. Once you go through the motions, it usually takes about two or three months." He said to Song Ya, "You shouldn't face any resistance joining the association with that song, Thrift Shop, right?"

"Shouldn't be." Hayden answered for Song Ya. "But my employer is an impatient person."

"Impatient? Haha..."

Once they ordered, Daniel just got a light meal and took out ten dollars, asking the waiter to exchange it for coins. "APLUS, you grew up in the slums, right? Being able to stay unmoved by forty thousand dollars a year, and not worrying about the sales of Little Lowry's album, which is tied to your interests—this doesn't seem like the behavior of an impatient person. You know, if his album sales land at one hundred thousand copies, you'll only get about five thousand dollars in royalties."

"I'm used to being poor, and we poor folks on the South Side have..." Song Ya pointed at Daniel, "an innate wariness toward people like you."

"I know, I know."

Daniel laughed. He took the food and coins from the waiter, walked to the jukebox in the corner of the diner, shoved all the coins in, made his selection, and returned to his seat. "People like us have very precious time, so I will try my best to persuade you as quickly as possible."

"Yo! VIP! Ice ice baby... Ice ice baby..."

The jukebox was an old-fashioned one; a mechanical arm picked up a vinyl record and placed it down slowly. Accompanied by a rhythmic beat, a rap song began to play.

"APLUS, do you know why I didn't choose a high-end restaurant to treat you to a big meal but chose this place? Because there's a jukebox here. Vanilla Ice, a white guy, our signed artist. His album won't be released until the end of the year, but this single is already selling very well. You can request it at any street shop in Chicago."

Daniel said while eating, "Do you know where your boss, that old Joe, is wrong? He's betting everything on that worthless album by Little Lowry. I tried my best to listen to every song, but sorry, except for your Thrift Shop, I couldn't finish the other twelve. Do you know where Little Lowry's agent is wrong? He went to negotiate a deal with Warner. My god, Warner Records, with its star-studded roster, won't give many resources to that mediocre black kid from Chicago..."

As Vanilla Ice's single finished, a clear female chorus began to play from the jukebox.

"Familiar with this song? Hold On, number one on the Billboard charts. The Wilson Sisters and Phillips, three white girls, also our signed artists. Their album is coming soon, probably releasing in June. Do you notice anything? Yes, our strategy at SBK is always to lead with a single, build up enough momentum, and then release the album. This happens to align perfectly with your... APLUS's interests. For an album, you get one percent; for a single, you get ten percent. As long as we can handle the distribution for that Lowry II album, believe me, I'll throw the other twelve songs in the trash and bet everything on Thrift Shop. I like Thrift Shop; I only want Thrift Shop."

As Song Ya listened, he found himself almost completely persuaded. Is this some kind of hypnotic technique? Are true elites really this powerful?

"I can even sign a wager agreement with you."

Daniel struck while the iron was hot. "As long as you help me get in touch with Joe and negotiate a partnership, for the first million singles, in addition to the royalties you're entitled to, I'll give you an extra three percent cut..."

"Calculating at five dollars per single, three percent of one million is... one hundred and fifty thousand dollars?" Hayden calculated the number and couldn't help but swallow hard.

"Exactly. And even if sales don't reach one million later, I'll still give you the one hundred and fifty thousand. You don't have to do anything else, just help me close this deal!" Daniel took out his checkbook, filled in the amount of ten thousand dollars, and pushed it in front of Song Ya. "This is a personal referral fee for you. You just need to help me arrange a meeting with Joe, and this ten thousand is yours."

Song Ya's fingers, hidden under the table, twitched uncontrollably.

"I can't command those people at BMI to do anything, but I can help you recognize your own advantages, and even help you realize how American society operates. In fact, you can force those people at BMI to speed up the process and get your membership sorted just by relying on yourself."

Daniel's words were the final straw that broke the camel's back.

Five minutes later, Song Ya took Daniel's brick-like phone and dialed Goodman's number. "Hey, Chuck, do you have a moment? Come help me with something... Yes, right now... The address is... Don't worry, the pay won't be short."